


Frozen Treats and Warmed Hearts

by Buckeye01



Category: The Musketeers (2014)
Genre: Brotherhood, Cuddling & Snuggling, Family, Friendship, Happy Ending, Ice Cream, Snow and Ice, frozen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-29
Updated: 2015-12-29
Packaged: 2018-05-10 07:15:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,219
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5576176
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Buckeye01/pseuds/Buckeye01
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Entry for the 3rd Fête des Mousquetaires contest: The Musketeers are planning for their annual Christmas party for the poor and needy families of Paris. Athos appears cold and will not participate in the party plans. Is his heart frozen, or is something else going on?</p>
            </blockquote>





	Frozen Treats and Warmed Hearts

**Author's Note:**

> I hope you don't mind that I posted this story after Christmas; I believe that the spirit of giving shouldn't end with Christmas, but should be kept in our hearts year-round. May all you lovely readers have a Blessed and very Happy New Year!

FROZEN TREATS AND MELTED HEARTS

“The captain gave his permission for us to do the children’s Christmas party again this year, since it was such a success last year,” Aramis happily reported to the others.

“We should make this an annual event,” d’Artagnan’s eyes lit up. “We can be a beacon of light to the poor families of the community by offering them a Christmas meal and a toy for the children.”

“I think ‘at’s a great idea, pup,” Porthos clapped the youngest on his shoulder. “We ‘ave a few weeks before Christmas. Let’s get started plannin’ so we can make this year’s party better than ever.”

“I can ask Constance if she would bake some cookies for the children,” d’Artagnan suggested. “I’m sure she knows some ladies who can also help bake cookies and sugar cakes.”

“Mmm, all this talk ‘bout cookies and cakes,” Porthos rubbed his belly, “makes me hungry!”

“I know Monsieur Larue, the local toymaker,” Aramis bit his lip thoughtfully. “I’ll talk to him to see if he will donate any unsold or unwanted toys. Also, if we can get the parish involved, we can help raise enough funds to purchase more toys so every child who attends the party gets a gift. What do you think, Athos?” the medic asked the reticent fourth Musketeer.

“You haven’t said anything yet,” d’Artagnan pointed out. “What do you think about our ideas, any suggestions to make this party really special for the children?”

“It sounds to me like you have plans well underway,” Athos replied dryly. “You will do just fine without my involvement; I am rather busy this month with other matters and lack the time. You three can plan the party without me,” Athos walked away, leaving his brothers stunned.

“But…” the men exchanged surprised glances. “What was that all about?” d’Artagnan asked as he stared after the departing Musketeer.

“That’s rubbish!” the large man frowned. “Athos helped with the plannin’ last year,” Porthos scratched his head in confusion. “Did somethin’ happen ‘at we don’t know about?” 

“I don’t know,” the Spaniard grumbled, “but I intend to find out.” Aramis stormed after his friend and caught up with him outside the garrison gate.

“So what is going on with you?” Aramis caught Athos by the arm to spin him around. “What was that all about back there?” he motioned with his chin toward the picnic table. “Why don’t you want to participate in planning for the party? Athos, I thought you enjoyed bringing happiness to the poor families and children at Christmastime.”

“I enjoyed the party last year,” Athos pulled free of the medic’s grip. “But I’m very busy right now with no extra time to spare. If you don’t mind, I have things to do,” the Musketeer stepped around Aramis to continue down the street.

“What is going on with him?” Aramis asked aloud as his two brothers joined him at the gate.

“Where is he going?” d’Artagnan wondered as Athos turned the corner and then disappeared.

“I don’t know, d’Artagnan,” Aramis grumbled. “It appears we’re going to have to plan this party without Athos,” the medic shook his head with disappointment. “Come on, we have work to do. I’ll talk to Serge to find out if he knows any butchers and bakers who can donate food for the meal. This party is mostly for the children but we can’t have hungry parents,” the Spaniard muttered as he went to speak with their faithful cook.

*****

“Bonjour, Monsieur Dufort,” Athos greeted the street vendor. “Is there an update on my order of fruit?”

“Oui, Monsieur Athos,” the vendor replied with a smile. “My supplier said that he has several large batches of apples and pears set aside for me; the fruit will be taken to the commodities warehouse until the order is complete. We will then have all of the fruit transported to the icehouse where it will be juiced and frozen until you need it.”

“That sounds perfect,” Athos smiled. “I’ve been informed that my supply of exotic fruits has also arrived, so we’re on schedule. Indeed,” he nodded, “this is working out perfectly.” 

“May I ask who your other supplier is?” the man inquired.

Athos smiled and shook his head, “the supplier wishes to remain anonymous.”

**Louvre Palace, Autumn:**

_“What’s wrong, Athos?” Queen Anne asked as she stood beside the Musketeer who appeared troubled._

_“Your Majesty,” Athos bowed low. “Forgive me, I was just thinking…” his voice trailed as he watched some children playing in the fallen leaves on the palace grounds._

_“You are obviously troubled,” the queen frowned. “Please, tell me what troubles you, perhaps I can help?”_

_“It’s noth…” he stopped short as his face suddenly brightened. “Your Majesty, maybe you can help. I have an idea for our Christmas party coming in a few months,” he sighed. “I want to do something special for the children—something they’ve never experienced before. I want something they’ll remember for a long time to come but I don’t want to give them just another toy.”_

_“What do you have in mind, Athos?” the queen was intrigued._

_“Ah, it’s probably too far-fetched to make it a reality,” he waved off his thoughts._

_“Nonsense,” the queen smiled. “Whatever it is, if you want it enough—for the children—then I will help make it happen. The king will be busy all day Thursday with official matters, if you would come to the palace then, we can discuss your plans. I will be your silent partner in whatever you have planned for the children and no one will know of my involvement. This is your idea, Athos, but together we will make this a Christmas party the children will always remember.”_

**Present Day, Musketeer Garrison:**

“Looks like we’re going to have plenty of beef coming from the butchers,” Serge informed the men. “We also have several bushels of turnips, leeks, carrots and onions for the pot-au-feu; and from the bakery, we have dozens of loaves of bread coming.”

“Mmm, sounds good,” Porthos rubbed his hands together in anticipation. “I can hardly wait!”

“Hey, this is for the community,” d’Artagnan reminded with a grin.

“Ah, nonsense,” Serge countered. “There will be plenty to feed the families _and_ my Musketeers. How can we spread joy to the children on Christmas Day if you boys are grumpy because you’re hungry?”

“I’ll be grumpy if I’m hungry, you count on it,” Porthos growled. “How can I play wit’ the kids and be merry if I’m starvin’ half to death?”

“I hardly think you’ll be starving, Porthos,” Aramis laughed. “So, it sounds like our Christmas dinner plans are coming along well. Come on, boys,” the Spaniard clapped his friends on the shoulders, “we have a load of toys to pick up from M. Larue.”

*****

“How many of these wooden crates do we have to load onto this wagon?” Porthos grumbled.

“Porthos, you’ve been quite grouchy lately,” Aramis complained. “The work is for a greater cause, remember that. This party is going to be festive and fun for the children; our hard work and sweat will be worth it in the end, you’ll see.” Aramis wiped his brow and looked upward at the sky then frowned at the falling snow and falling temperatures.

“Where did Athos go off to this afternoon?” the large Musketeer griped, ignoring Aramis’s earlier comment. “It’s like he’s avoidin’ us—and the work for this party—it’s not right!”

“Exactly, Porthos,” d’Artagnan agreed as he dropped a crate on the wagon then wiped sweat from his brow. “This is a merry occasion yet he wants nothing to do with it—or us—so it seems,” the Gascon frowned.

“I don’t know what’s going on with him but I’m tired of discussing this,” Aramis loaded another crate on the wagon. “He doesn’t seem interested in the party—nor does he want to talk about whatever he’s involved in—so there’s no point in discussing it any further.”

“Has the cap’n got him busy doin’ somethin’ we don’t know about?” Porthos asked as he loaded the final crate.

“I don’t know,” Aramis frowned as he climbed up on the wagon. “I wouldn’t presume to know Athos’s business,” he said curtly. “If he wanted to share his business with us he would have. Let’s go,” the Spaniard ordered his two brothers, “we need to get these toys delivered to the warehouse and get back to the garrison before the storm hits.”

*****

Athos rode to the icehouse to inquire about his supply of fruit and juices, all the while making sure no one was following him. He stepped into the wooden building, stopping at the door as he stomped the snow from his boots and shook the powder from his hat.

“Ah, Monsieur de la Fère,” called out a kindly older gentleman, “I’ve been expecting you.”

“Did my order of fruit arrive, there should be four varieties total?” Athos asked as he inspected the crates of fruit.

“Indeed they did,” the man smiled. “We received apples, pears, cranberries and pomegranates; we are in the process of juicing them as we speak. As soon as we have the fruit juiced, we will freeze the juice with chunks of fruit—just as you asked. I have two chefs who will prepare the frozen fruit and frozen juice, combined with shaved ice, to make this a delicious and refreshing dessert for Christmas. We will have all four varieties ready for your party—guaranteed.”

“I look forward to it, Monsieur Garcon,” Athos shook his hand. “Oh, I almost forgot, will the confectioner bring the creamed ice here to the icehouse for freezing and for safe keeping?”

“Oui, of course, Monsieur Athos,” the gentleman nodded. “We will have everything brought to the garrison together,” he assured. “You are quite welcome to personally oversee the packing and transport of the frozen desserts. However, if it continues to snow like this, we may have to transport it by sleigh,” M. Garcon laughed. “Ah, but wouldn’t the children just love that?”

“I’m sure the children would love that,” Athos frowned. “But who wants frozen treats when it’s freezing outside?” 

“Very true, Monsieur Athos,” the man agreed with a nod. “Let us pray for warmer weather so the children can enjoy their frozen treats to cool them down again,” he laughed heartily.

“Hmm, excellent request—though it sounds rather backwards for this time of year,” Athos mused as he inspected the fruit a final time. “Thank you, Monsieur Garcon,” he replied once he was satisfied with the preparations. “I’ll see you on Christmas.”

Athos rode back to the garrison against the biting cold and blustering wind of the winter storm. “Come on, Roger, let’s make haste,” he absently reached for his scarf but remembered he gave it to his laundress to wash. “We need to hurry before this storm worsens,” he yelled over the wind.

“Dammit,” he cursed the wind as he pulled his collar up. Ice crystals soon formed on his beard and mustache from the condensation in his frosty breath. Athos tugged his hat down and lowered his head as he pressed forward, all the while cursing the wind and the cold. The frigid wind bit at his ears, turning them a bright red, but still he pressed on.

Athos crouched lower in the saddle, curling into himself as he tucked his head down until his chin rested against his chest. He could no longer feel his gloved fingers around the reins, though his hands were pulled inside his sleeves for more cover. “I’m gl-glad y-you know th-the way,” he patted the horse’s neck. “I’m s-sorry I g-got us b-both stuck out in th-this st-storm. I c-can’t feel a d-damn th-thing on my b-body… I’m so c-cold.”

By the time Athos arrived at the garrison, he was so cold he lacked the strength to even dismount from his horse. He continued to sit hunched over as he shivered in the saddle, unable to unclench his frozen fingers from the reins.

“Aramis!” Porthos yelled into the room from the balcony. “Athos is here!” the large Musketeer rushed down the stairs to stand beside Roger. The horse snorted wearily; the animal’s breath instantly froze into a shimmering cloud of white vapor. Tiny icicles hung from the bit near Roger’s mouth, as well as from his forelock and mane—even the animal’s eyelashes were frozen. Aramis and d’Artagnan soon skidded to a stop in the snow beside their friend, each frantic with worry.

“Athos, you’re safe now,” the medic squeezed his friend’s leg. “Athos, can you hear me?” Aramis waited but the older Musketeer remained in place, his body trembled terribly from the cold. “Come on, let’s get you down from there and get you warmed up, shall we?”

“Too c-c-cold t-to m-move,” Athos finally whispered as he shivered violently.

“Here, I’ll get ‘im,” Porthos reached up to pull Athos toward him then waited for the trembling Musketeer to fall into his open arms. He gathered the shivering man and carried him upstairs into a room where he gently laid him on the bed.

d’Artagnan grabbed extra blankets from the other rooms before nearly running over Captain Tréville on the narrow walkway. “Is there anything I can do to help?” the captain asked Aramis as he followed d’Artagnan into the room.

“Yes, Captain, can you ask Serge to fix up a bowl of hot soup and hot tea?” the medic called out as he tended Athos. “Could you have them brought up to the room?” 

“Of course,” Tréville said as he turned on his heel toward the kitchen.

“Athos, dammit, where in the bloody hell were you comin’ from out in this storm?” Porthos growled as he maneuvered his large body behind the shivering man on the bed. He pulled Athos up against his chest then wrapped his large arms around his friend, embracing him in a warm hug.

d’Artagnan covered the shivering man with the extra blankets, taking care to tuck in the edges. “Your lips are almost blue, Athos,” the Gascon frowned. “How long were you out there?”

“N-not th-that long act-actually,” Athos trembled as he snuggled against Porthos’s warm body.

“Where were you?” Aramis wiped a wet cloth over the shivering man’s face, removing the ice crystals from his mustache and beard. “Where did you go?”

“Not f-far,” Athos closed his eyes.

“Oh, no you don’t,” Aramis tapped his cheek. “Stay awake until we get something warm in your belly—then you can sleep.”

“N-not hungry,” Athos protested stubbornly.

“Yes, you are,” Aramis countered with a grin. “Trust me, you’ll feel much better once you get some hot food inside that cold body of yours.”

“We’re gonna warm ya… from the inside out,” Porthos chuckled. 

“C-cold,” Athos huffed as he let his eyes slide closed. He barely listened as his brothers scolded him for wandering away without a word of where he was going. 

“Stay awake, Athos,” Aramis ordered, tapping his cheek again.

“Too c-cold t-t-to sl-sleep any-anyway.” Athos shuddered, despite the warmth of Porthos’s arms.

After a short wait, Captain Tréville brought in a tray with hot soup and tea and set it on the table. “You’re going to need to let this cool for a few minutes,” Treville shook his head as he looked over his lieutenant. “Is he going to be alright?”

“I’m f-fine,” Athos replied, “no n-need t-to w-worry.”

“He’ll be fine, Captain—once we thaw him out,” Aramis grinned.

“You boys make my head hurt,” the captain shook his head. “I’ll be in my office nursing a headache, if you need me.”

“Looks like we won’t be doing anything for a while besides waiting out this storm,” d’Artagnan observed from the window. “I sure hope the snow stops before Christmas,” he sadly shook his head. “All this work for the party will be for nothing. The poor children, they’ll be so disappointed if we have to cancel.”

“No one is c-canceling anything,” Athos mumbled into Porthos’s shoulder.

“I, for one, believe in the power of prayer, “Aramis picked up the bowl of soup. “If God wants those kids to be fed on Christmas Day, well then, He’ll stop the snow from falling.”

“Aramis, it’s the twenty-second already,” Porthos scowled. “God had better move this storm along real quick then.”

“Have faith, mon ami!” Aramis smiled softly as he offered a spoonful of soup to Athos.

After Athos ate his soup and drank his tea, he closed his eyes and snuggled closer to his human pillow. The Musketeer finally felt warm—inside and out—and allowed himself to relax against Porthos. Though his muscles ached from the earlier shivering, he fell asleep almost instantly.

“You don’t have to stay back there, you know,” Aramis smiled at Porthos holding a sleeping Athos in his arms.

“I know,” Porthos closed his eyes as he leaned his head against the wall. “I’ll catch up on some sleep while Athos sleeps—I’ll be alright.” The large Musketeer smiled as he settled in for a nap, tugging his brother closer.

“I think you both will be alright,” he patted Athos’s leg as he yawned. “I might as well get comfortable too.” Aramis leaned back in his chair and stretched out his legs across the bed then closed his eyes. “We won’t be going anywhere for a while it seems.” 

**Christmas Eve:**

“I don’t believe it,” d’Artagnan exclaimed from the window. “All of you, come look!”

Porthos and Aramis got up to crowd around d’Artagnan at the little window, each competing within the small space for an outside view. “Hey, I can’t see…”

“You do realize there is a door that opens,” Athos grinned as he stepped outside onto the balcony. He blinked against the bright sunlight gleaming off the glistening white snow. “Damn, it’s bright out here,” he squinted against the glaring light.

“Oi, it’s raining!” Porthos yelped at the water dripping on him as he stepped outside.

“It’s not raining” Aramis snickered. “The ice is melting above your head, silly,” he pointed up.

“Oh, I knew ‘at,” Porthos reached up to break off a long icicle hanging from the roof and took a bite. “Mmm, nice ‘n cold,” he smiled as he crunched on the ice.

“Porthos, I used to eat icicles when I was a boy,” d’Artagnan smirked.

“So,” Porthos crunched, “what’s your point, whelp?”

“It’s Christmas Eve and there’s no arguing today or tomorrow,” Aramis broke off an icicle and took a bite. “Ooh, but now my hand is freezing!” He pulled his hand into his shirt sleeve to hold the icicle… then took another bite.

_Crunch… crunch… crunch!_

“Christmas brings out the boy in every grown man,” Athos smiled warmly. “It only comes but once a year,” he reached up and broke off an icicle also. The older Musketeer watched with amusement as his friends stared at him in surprise… he cocked his head slightly to the side as he took a crunching bite.

**Christmas Day:**

“If you had said two days ago it would be this warm today I would have said you were daft,” d’Artagnan looked around the garrison in amazement. “I can’t believe this weather; it has to be twenty or thirty degrees warmer than just a few days ago.”

“This is incredible,” Aramis nodded. “It’s an answer to our prayers and a Christmas gift from Heaven.”

“Let’s get everything set up—it’s warm ‘nough to ‘ave it outside,” Porthos clapped his friends happily on the shoulder. 

The men of the garrison got to work setting up tables and chairs on the large practice field, never noticing that Athos had slipped away to the icehouse alone. By mid-afternoon, the first of the guests streamed in to the garrison. The ground was still covered in a layer of snow, having the perfect consistency for the children to build snowmen and later wage war with a snowball fight.

“Where is Athos?” d’Artagnan asked as he watched the children play.

Aramis and Porthos exchanged disappointed glances and quietly shrugged.

The families soon gathered near as baskets of bread were brought out to the tables, as well as dishes and utensils. Large pots of stew were placed at the serving tables, alongside a delectable display of cookies, cakes and pastries of every color and shape. Orderly lines were formed as young and old were served by the regiment of Musketeers.

Talking and joyful laughter echoed across the yard and between the buildings as the happy crowd ate their Christmas dinner. The garrison buzzed with holiday cheer as the Christmas spirit touched every hungry family getting their stomachs satisfied with a fulfilling hot meal.

Alas, after the large crowd had finished, Captain Tréville called for the families to remain in their seats as Athos rode into the garrison followed by a horse pulling a covered wagon. Hushed whispers rose from the crowd but soon were drowned out with screams of excitement as bowls of the mysterious frozen concoctions were placed on the tables.

“What is it, maman?” a wide-eyed boy asked.

“Try it son,” Athos smiled, “I think you’ll like it.”

“Oui, Monsieur,” the boy took a bite of the creamy frozen dessert then smiled from ear to ear. “Délicieux, it’s sweet, maman… and it’s cold!” he giggled.

“What is this?” the boy’s father asked. “What is this called?”

“The confectioner called this dessert creamed ice,” Athos pointed to the creamy dessert. “It is made with sweet cream, almonds and honey. We also have frozen treats made from either apples, pears, cranberries or pomegranates,” his eyes danced. “It’s called shaved ice. . . or crushed ice… no, frozen juice… well, I don’t know that it has a name,” Athos shrugged in confusion.

“Shaved ice?” d’Artagnan asked as he stared at the frozen concoctions being passed out to the eager guests. “Creamed ice… Athos, how did you manage this?”

Athos smiled quietly without saying a word.

“You mean, all those times you disappeared you were secretly planning… you were preparing these frozen treats?” Aramis looked around at the screaming children, giddy with excitement at the frozen treats in front of them. None of the children, or their parents for that matter, had ever tasted anything so cold and yet so wonderfully sweet and delicious. This was a Christmas surprise to remember. A surprise that was uniquely wonderful and completely unexpected—a _frozen_ Christmas surprise.

“You planned this all along,” Porthos was stunned. “How did you pull this off?”

“I have my ways,” Athos replied stoically.

“Ice cream, is ‘at what you said?” Porthos greedily stared at the wagon, “and shaved ice?” The large Musketeer could no longer contain himself as he rushed toward the wagon to gaze at the frozen treats. “Is there enough for us to try some of each?”

“Of course, Monsieur,” M. Garcon laughed. “We made sure there would be plenty of frozen treats for all to enjoy on this incredibly sunny and beautiful Christmas Day. Somehow, I feel this unusually warm day was given to us as a gift to enjoy these rare frozen treats, all the while spreading cheer and making merry.”

Suddenly screams of excitement and cheers erupted across the garrison as Père Noël appeared to begin passing toys and candy canes out to every boy and girl. The adults used the opportunity to scoop up the remaining ice cream and shaved ice from their children’s bowls, though trying to appear inconspicuous.

“Athos, I owe you an apology, mon ami,” Aramis said as his eyes watered. “I accused you of not caring about the party or about the children. I had no idea you were working on such a stunning and unique gift for everyone. I am such a fool,” his voice cracked.

“Nonsense, I couldn’t give away the surprise so I made you _think_ I wasn’t interested in the party,” Athos squeezed Aramis’s shoulder gently. “Besides, I didn’t know if the frozen treats would truly be a success or not.”

“Are you joking?” d’Artagnan laughed. “Look at them—they all loved it!”

“So do I,” Porthos yelled with his mouth full of ice cream.

“Hey, save some for us!” d’Artagnan nudged his friend on the arm.

“There’s sstilll plnty,” Porthos said as he shoveled another spoonful into his mouth.

“Who would have thought that frozen treats on Christmas Day would bring so much joy and wonder to a family—especially the children!” d’Artagnan’s eyes danced as he squeezed Athos on the shoulder and smiled.

“I accused you of having an ice-cold heart,” Aramis sadly admitted. “I was wrong,” he paused to collect himself, “I was the one who was frozen inside.”

_“We_ were frozen inside,” Porthos corrected. “Our hearts were frozen over—hardened by our ignorance and our anger,” he sighed heavily.

“This surprise you pulled off,” Aramis blinked as he looked over the happy crowd, “just melted my frozen heart into a watery mess.” The Spaniard clapped Athos on the shoulder before walking toward the wagon, privately wiping the tears from his eyes. 

“How much is left of that shaved ice and ice cream?” d’Artagnan called out with a happy smile.

“Indeed,” Aramis cleared his throat. “I want to try these _secret_ frozen treats that Athos kept so well hidden from us.”

“Joyeux Noël, my brothers,” Athos smiled as he wiped at the corner of his eye. 

“Joyeux Noël, Athos!” his brothers echoed.

**Author's Note:**

> Iced drinks and desserts have been around since at least 4000 B.C., when nobles along the Euphrates River built icehouses to chill their drinks during the summer heat. Alexander the Great enjoyed eating snow flavored with honey. The Roman emperor Nero had his servants go into the mountains to fetch snow and ice, which was then flavored with fruits and juices—kind of like a first century snow cone—one of the emperor’s favorite desserts.
> 
> Marco Polo returned to Italy from the Far East with a recipe that closely resembled what is now called sherbet. Historians estimate that this recipe evolved into ice cream sometime in the 16th century. England discovered ice cream about at the same time as the Italians. _"Creamed Ice,"_ as it was called, appeared regularly at the table of Charles I during the 17th century. France was introduced to similar frozen desserts in 1553 by the Italian Catherine de Medici when she became the wife of Henry II of France. King Louis XIII was said to have favored “ice cream” made of Acacia berries and honey. The restaurant _L’Aiguière_ was once an inn frequented by Louis XIII Musketeers where a favorite dessert of Acacia and honey ice cream was served.
> 
> The wealthy built icehouses, where great chunks of frozen water cut from rivers or lakes were stored underground between layers of straw, sawdust, or other insulating media. A well-designed icehouse could preserve ice throughout the summer.


End file.
